Paul's Mind

There was a heartbeat between the moment Paul opened his eyes, and the moment his phone began buzzing wildly on his windowsill. Paul closed his eyes once again hoping to fall back into blissful sleep in the seconds between the raucous vibrations. As the drumming bore deeper and deeper into his brain Paul reluctantly rolled over and began groping for the phone cord. The phone had been placed well out of reach in an attempt to goad himself into getting out of bed, so, naturally, the charging cord had been run along the window ledge allowing it to be reeled in with relative ease. Within moments Paul had successfully silenced his phone, and drifted victoriously back into a deep sleep. “Get the hell up, boy!” In an explosion of flannel sheets Paul leapt from his bed. The clock on the wall read 2:48. Paul’s heart careened past his stomach and landed somewhere between liver and spleen. Paul lurched forward, then abruptly back, a perfect imitation of the broken second hand on the clock that had been broken for as long as Paul could remember. A drumroll sounded from his windowsill, his phone buzzing loudly as the alarm titled “Seriously dude, get up,” flashed on the screen. “This is getting ridiculous,” Paul mumbled to himself as he rooted through his hamper, looking for the cleanest and most odorless shirt in the pile. After a few frantic inspections, Paul raised his arms, sniffed, and began buttoning the shirt he had worn to bed the previous night. “Ain’t you ever heard of pajamas, boy?” Paul rolled his eyes and glanced back at his empty room. “James, I really can’t deal with this today.” “Ha, the only thing you can’t seem to deal with is a washing machine. How many shirts you got there in tha’ hamper?” Biting his tongue Paul finished buttoning, then hopped to the bathroom as he attempted to jam his feet into his shoes. With the flick of a switch the ceiling light came to life with a low rattle. Brown tiles covered a floor sporting green bathmats like moss on a rock. Alongside the mats a swarm of ties lay intertwined like a nest of vibrantly multi-colored snakes, and above, a Winnie-the-Pooh-yellow shower curtain hung like a hopelessly tacky shower curtain should. At the mirror Paul paused to inspect his scruffy and patchy beard. “Can we please shave it? It’s getting so itchy!” Paul turned to regard the little girl sitting on the tank of his toilet, her little purple sandals almost slipping from her toes and into the bowl. “We don’t have time, I’m sorry Michelle.” Paul opened the medicine cabinet, loosing an amber shower of nearly empty prescription bottles. Slamming the mirror shut Paul riffled through the aftermath until he found the pill box labeled with each day of the week. Upright again Paul noticed the reflection of a corpulent and hairy man lounging in his tub, a great golden chalice clutched in his pudgy hand – a hand made only more sausage-like by the application of a half-dozen rings which pinched and shaped his mass into its link-like state. “Our beard defines our manliness! Should we abandon it, our lands will be seized upon by usurpers!” Paul fumbled with the box. Michelle set her lips in a pout of resolution. “Be quiet Mr. Belmont! I don’t like the beard and I want to shave!” “You impudent wench! That’s Lord Belmont to you!” Paul desperately tried wedging a fingernail under the lip of the F, slipped, and sent the edge of the plastic into the softness under his fingernail. “Damnit! Shut up, both of you!” Paul yelled, sucking his fingertip in pain. Michelle stuck her tongue out at Lord Belmont with an air of victory. Rolling his eyes, Lord Belmont returned to his wine with a gruff “hmph!” Michelle hopped delicately to the floor, her purple dress catching air like a parachute. “It’s Wednesday, we need to take the one with the W on it.” “There’s nothing in the Wednesday part, because I took them on Wednesday, today’s Friday, see?” Paul shook the little container like a tiny maraca. “He’s right Michelle, today is Friday, see the box?” Michelle’s face paled as she stepped away from door, and the tall, gaunt man standing in its frame. “Hello, Michelle.” “Leave her alone, Laurence.” Paul said sternly, stepping a little farther in front of Michelle and pointing the pillbox his way. Laurence raised his hands innocently, his jacket slipping back to reveal two cufflinks constructed of human teeth. “I only wished to greet her. I meant no harm.” Outside the bathroom window a loud hydraulic hiss sounded, followed by a robotic female voice. “Welcome to, route, forty-seven, service to, Market - ” “Crap!” Paul yelled as he rushed the door. “Our tie,” Laurence reminded, nodding towards the mass on the floor, “may I suggest the blue -” “Absurd! The red tie shall strike fear into the hearts of our enemies! We -” “QUIET!” Paul screamed, clutching his head in pain. Alone again in his bathroom, Paul rushed to the pile of ties, snagged a purple one, and bolted out the door. ## Paul bolted out the door just as the last passenger boarded the bus. “Wait! Wait a sec’!” Paul fumbled with his keys for a moment before locking his door and sprinting to the bus, knocking himself in the face with his briefcase repeatedly as he attempted to tie his tie. As he reached the door Paul saw from the corner of his eye a man sprinting down the street in a similar fashion, but wearing overalls and a red and white cap. “Tardiness does not become us…” Laurence whispered in his ear. Paul nodded and boarded the bus. “That was mean. We’re already going to be late, what’s a few more seconds?” Michelle asked. “The wisest are the most annoyed at the loss of time,” Laurence responded casually. Paul furrowed his brow. “Wait, isn’t that from something?” The woman standing next to Paul looked over at him curiously through a set of thick rimmed glasses. “Scuse’ me?” She asked, looking Paul up and down. “What? No, sorry, sorry I was just - ” Paul stuttered before turning and walking further down the bus. The woman rolled her eyes and returned to her paper. “Raggity ass white boy come in here mumblin’ to himself an’ all…” “Best to use our inside voices,” Laurence whispered in his ear. “That woman should be hung from our battlements for the way she questioned us! We should have her apprehended immediately!” Lord Belmont roared, with a drunken slur. Paul shambled down the aisle stopping at the nearest empty seat. A young man in a wife-beater and baggy jeans reclined next to the window, loudly pounding the seat and rapping along with the song playing from his phone’s speakers. Paul couldn’t help but smile as he noticed the SEPTA courtesy sign behind the boy asking all passengers to neither eat, drink, or play music aloud. The boy looked up with a scowl. “The fuck you smilin’ at?” He asked, reaching towards the bulge under his belt and shirt threateningly. “I think it would be safe to assume that he isn’t merely happy to see us,” Laurence chuckled. Paul began to back away cautiously, and the young man returned to his beats. After the second step Paul felt his hand press against something soft, and turned around quickly to find a gorgeous brunette staring at him with a raised eyebrow. “I’m sorry! God, look I -” Paul stammered. The woman looked from Paul’s spotty beard to his wrinkled shirt to his shoes. “Your shoes are on the wrong feet,” she said coolly before turning back to the opposite window. Paul’s face succumbed to a wave of scarlet that had him turning and shambling to the back of the bus with newfound speed. “What are we doing! We must go back! Our lineage must be secured!” Lord Belmont urged, slightly sobered. Laurence grunted in disgust. “An intelligent woman like that would take the world by storm if it weren’t for fat pigs, such as yourself, turning them into wives and trophies.” “He’s right, you’re gross!” Michelle chimed in. “Guys be quiet!” Paul whispered verbally. An elderly portly man with a thick white beard and a food stained undershirt, looked up at Paul in surprise. “Sorry,” Paul began, but was cut off by a loud shush from the man, who looked around cautiously. “Do you hear them too?” The man asked. “Hear who?” Paul answered apprehensively. After a short pause and another look around the bus, the man returned Paul’s gaze. “The aliens,” he whispered. “Oh my lord,” Laurence groaned. “Yes? What do you require my faithful servant?” Lord Belmont quickly responded. The old man motioned Paul closer, removing his camo-colored bag from the adjacent seat and tapping it invitingly. Paul sat. “You hear ‘em too then? That’s good. Means their communication defenses are weakening.” The man excitedly opened his bag, pulling from it three marble copybooks which he began rifling through. “Couple years back I was the only one that could hear ‘em, but more and more every day, more and more everyday!” Paul nodded, his eyes wide. “He’s crazy… and he smells.” Michelle complained. “Now look,” the man shoved a book in Paul’s face, “there are a couple of them that consistently use this airspace to communicate. I was a communication specialist, trust me I know a thing or two about radio waves. There’s this calm one, always tryin’ to get the plan underway, that’s all he keeps talkin’ bout is getting the plan underway.” “Uhuh,” Paul responded, his voice cracking. The bus stopped and Paul checked the street. Two stops left. “But no one seems to like him, at least not the loud one.” One stop left. “And then there’s this really sweet an’ innocent one, but it’s all a ruse see, she’s the ringleader – Agh, damn I missed my stop, I gotta’ go.“ “Wait!” Paul tried to stop the man but was brushed aside. “Wait a minute, tell me about the voices you hear.” “Shh!” The man scolded, looking around as if he expected a tractor beam to burst through the roof and abscond with him. After a moment of silence, he reached into his camo pants and pulled out a paper bag. “Here,” he whispered, shoving the bag into Paul’s hands, “Take this, you gotta be ready when they come. But you know, yeh you know I can tell. Got the hairs on the back of my neck standing up you do!” The bus doors opened and the man limped slowly down the stairs and out onto the street. A minute later the bus jerked to yet another stop. Paul stood motionless in place, the paper bag and its hard cylindrical contents clutched in his free hand. “It’s a shame what the mind can do to someone after they experience a trauma,” Laurence lamented. “That man would have been better off if he died in whatever foxhole they found him in.” “He scared me.” Michelle said softly. “Aye, a lunatic on the loose is a danger to our people! We must have that man drawn and quartered immediately!” “Right…” Paul whispered as he exited the bus in a dreamlike state. About ten feet away a squat balding man stood smoking a cigarette, leaning against Frank’s Fabulous Diamonds. He eyed Paul with some surprise, then spoke with a voice like gravel. “Well, look who decided to show up!” “I’m sorry, I know I’m late,” Paul said nervously. “That’s one way to put it. What are you doing with the bag? You drinkin’?” “No! No, sorry sir, I was just throwing this out.” “Yeh, sure.” The man flicked the cigarette away and shouldered through the doors behind him. Paul hefted the bag in his hand. He placed his briefcase on the ground and emptied the bag into his other hand. A snub-nosed pistol dropped into his sweaty palm. Paul’s eyes went wide with shock, but before he could react he felt himself wrenched sideways by the arm to find himself pressed very close to the brunette from the bus. “Wha-” Paul started before he felt the gun press into his gut. “Are you a cop?” She whispered, pressing her pistol deeper into Paul’s stomach. “What? I – Did everyone on that bus have a gun?!” The woman squinted at him, and then removed her gun. She swiped the pistol from Paul’s hand, untucked his shirt, and shoved the gun into his pants. “Whoa, what are you doing?” Paul snapped as he leapt back. “What I’m doing is helping you make a lot of money in a very short span of time.” Lord Belmont stumbled out from behind a cab and staggered over to the woman, eyeing her drunkenly in a mixture of curiosity, awe, and lust. “How much money?” Lord Belmont asked at length. “How much money?” Paul repeated. “Enough to buy you a new shirt, and that should be enough.” The woman responded. Laurence meandered out of a crowd, smoothing his shirt and adjusting his cuffs. “She’s caught my interest, and my admiration.” He remarked. “You’ve caught my interest, and,” Paul eyed her slyly “and you most certainly have caught my attention.” The woman smiled, and checked her watch, her teeth still bared. “In two minutes three men are going to run out of the jewelry store behind me,” she gestured with her head, “when they do I am going to shoot the man in the blue tie at the café, and a car will pull up directly behind you.” “Why is she going to hurt him?” Michelle gasped. Lord Belmont continued to stare lustfully after the woman, while Laurence contemplated the plan from the side. Paul continued to watch her, smiling, taking in every word. “The robbery is just a distraction so they won’t be expecting much resistance, it’s all been planned with the owner. Now you,” she stepped closer now, just as close as they had been when she held the gun to his gut, “you take them by surprise,” she removed the gun from his belt and placed it in his hand, “and finish them before they even know what’s happening.” Michelle came running from the door of Paul’s work anguished and confused. “We can’t do this! She wants us to hurt people for money! She’s going to kill that man and she won’t even tell us why!” Paul could feel the woman’s breath on his neck; he could feel her pressed close against him and the outline of his gun, squished between them. The sound of gunshots sounded from behind the woman mingled with screams and the shattering of glass. “Why?” Paul whispered, not taking his eyes off of hers. The woman pressed herself closer to Paul and kissed him fiercely before tearing away, turning and firing a single shot at the man in the blue tie who was frantically attempting to open a car door. Crimson arced from the man’s chest and trailed across the roof of the silver car. The woman turned to face the jeweler’s door. “Because we’re all just here for you Paul.” She replied, turning her gun towards the jewelers. Before Paul had a chance to process the words themselves he heard the yell of “He’s got a gun!” come from the robbers. He turned towards them as two lifted their rifles. Mushrooms of skull and brain matter erupted from their heads as the woman fired three shots. The men in the rear quickly dropped to the ground, their hands abandoning their loot in favor of their pistols. Paul’s hand had already taken aim. “If we’re going to die,” Laurence began. “It shall be with honor!” Lord Belmont roared as he flung his goblet at the men. “Please don’t,” Michelle cried quietly, tears streaming down her cheeks, her purple sandaled feet nervously twisted. Paul felt the bullet, but never heard a gunshot. Paul felt the hot cement sidewalk, but never heard a gunshot. Paul felt the cold creeping in from all sides, but never heard the gunshot. ## When Paul opened his eyes the lights may have well been the sun for the burning they did to his retinas. He felt nothing, he existed on an ethereal plane, simply floating under the lights and the life support systems that surrounded his bed. After an eternity of floating in bliss Paul was welcomed back to reality by the astounding throbbing in his side. Paul groaned and struggled for control of his limbs. A fruitless struggle against the handcuffs that chained him to the bed. An elderly doctor walked in, a clipboard in her hand and a nurse at her side “What’s going on? Where am I?” Paul demanded, the drowsiness now almost fully extinguished. “You’re in the hospital, my name is Dr. Crawford. Do you remember being shot earlier today?” “Shot? Of course I remember being shot! Is that a crime now? Getting shot? Why am I chained to the bed?” “You were found at the crime scene with a gun.” “I didn’t do anything! Honestly, please you - ” Paul paused and took a deep steadying breath. “Please, a lot has happened today, but I promise you I had nothing to do with that robbery, or the man that got shot, or any of it. Please…” Dr. Crawford raised a hand to quiet him and handed the clipboard off to the nurse. “Sir, I was not there, nothing you say to me is going to help you. However, there is an officer outside that would like to take your statement. If you would like to speak with him you can, we just need to check for a concussion first, alright?” Paul nodded, his heart racing. Dr. Crawford lifted another clipboard from the end of Paul’s bed and glanced over it. “Let’s start simple. Is your name Harry Danton?” “No my name is Paul,” Paul chuckled. Dr. Crawford raised an imperious eyebrow. “Is your birthday ten twenty-seven ninety-one?” “Yes.” “And you live at 1800 Jefferson Avenue?” “Yeh.” “Male, 5’11”, brown hair, blue eyes; name is Harry Danton, this isn’t you?” “No, my name is Paul.” “Paul what?” Harry opened his mouth to answer, and then stopped. “Are you ok sir?” “My tummy hurts.” Harry responded. “What?” “Bring me my ale woman, and be quick about it!” “I’m sorry sir you need -” “What I need is my cufflinks back you rotten thief! How dare you steal from me do you know who I am?” Harry snarled. “The ones made out of teeth? I’m sorry, I have enough of my own as it is.” Dr. Crawford replied backing cautiously out the door. “Oh it’s from a book, read a piece of literature you barbarian!” Harry screamed, his body writhing, the handcuffs clanging with each exertion. “Nurse! Get in here right now!” Dr. Crawford yelled. “I will drink the finest mead from your broken skull! I’m telling my mom! Release me!”